


Mistletoe Tea: A Christmas Short

by CaptainDog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDog/pseuds/CaptainDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>basically a very awkward Christmas at 221B. Sherlock celebrates the holidays rather sneakily. As I came up with the idea this morning and wanted to finish it while it was still Christmas (I sort of succeeded), it's not beta'd or anything. I may rewrite/repurpose it later. Just a bit of fluff for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe Tea: A Christmas Short

“Did you make tea?” John asked as he padded into the kitchen. Sherlock gave him a long-suffering look from his microscope.

“Have you learnt nothing of my methods? Look around.”

John huffed. It was too early for this. He did look around the room, however. There was no evidence of tea-making, save for the smell of peppermint. John made to peer over Sherlock's shoulder.

“What's the experiment?”

“Good, John. Asking the right questions. It's slime mould.”

John scrunched up his nose. “Not anything with peppermint, then.”

“No.”

John shrugged and went to make tea and toast. He found the source of the fragrance when he went into the sitting room to get his half-read book. A small artificial tree sat on their coffee table, decorated with baubles and candy canes.

“Is this from Mrs. Hudson?” John called. Sherlock made a non-committal grunt. As John returned to turn the kettle off, he noticed a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the kitchen light, directly above his flatmate. He rolled his eyes. After all these months, Mrs. Hudson still thought they were a couple. Not that he wouldn't like to be, but Sherlock had made his disinterest pretty clear. John had mostly gotten used to the ache of it.

“Any cases?” he asked, but Sherlock was far too interested in his mould to reply.

*

“You sure you're not going?” John asked after reading out a text about the Christmas party at NSY.

“I'm not in the mood to lose the little respect I have left for the Met.” Sherlock said. “Lestrade is a very...affectionate drunk. Feel free to go yourself.”

“No way.” John said. “I had to deal with Harry all of last night. I don't need any more alcoholic festivities. Especially with people I hardly know.”

“What about the surgery? Didn't Sarah organise anything?”

“Same thing, but with an awkward ex rather than an alcoholic sister.”

“There's nothing to suggest that you aren't on pleasant terms with her.”

“Professionally. Still, I have to admit that I was rather horrible to her. And anyway, aren't you supposed to be having Christmas dinner with Mycroft?”

“I have a pressing case keeping me at home. A man's alibi depends on the careful monitoring of the slime mould on the table.”

“And he bought that?”

Sherlock smirked. “Enough that he let the matter drop. Mostly.”

“Right.” John said, standing up. “That Chinese place should be open tonight. I'll get us a takeaway, and we can watch the Doctor Who special.”

Sherlock smiled. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” John looked at him, bemused, and went to order chow mein. Sherlock eventually came into the kitchen to check the progress of the slime mould. It had actually turned a few colours that were quite festive. John wondered momentarily if Sherlock had done it on purpose for the holidays, but dismissed it. If it weren't for Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft's constant badgering, it was doubtful that he would have even known it was Christmas.

John leant against the counter and watched him prod at the red, green, and white goo in a petri dish. His eyes drifted upwards to the mistletoe. For a moment, he let his thoughts wander. Let himself imagine acting according to tradition and kissing him. The fantasy didn't last long; all scenarios seemed to end painfully.

“You're staring.” John jumped. Sherlock was watching him from above the eyepiece of the microscope.

“Sorry.” He nodded towards the plant on the light fixture. “Mrs. Hudson put that there?” Sherlock shrugged. They were silent for a moment, Sherlock focussing once again on his experiment, John watching him.

“I treated someone with mistletoe poisoning once.” John commented. “When I was interning.” Sherlock's head snapped up. It surprised John; he had only been talking idly to pass the time, he hadn't really expected a conversation.

“And it was Christmas Eve, too. His girlfriend had tried to make some homemade mistletoe tea for some new age healing crap. Thought it would be romantic.”

Sherlock snorted.

“Turns out she'd done it on purpose, too.” Sherlock's eyes widened and John grinned. Sherlock _would_ like this story. “Apparently they'd had a bit of a row, and she gave him the tea in hopes of reconciling. Well, that's what she told him, anyway. And then his vision started blurring and he got really bad stomach cramps and came in to the A &E. The girlfriend came with. She kept telling him that he'd just had some bad egg nog.”

They were both laughing by now. This was nice, really. Just laughing and waiting for Chinese food and not having to be anywhere. This was how Christmases should be. 

“You're staring again.” Sherlock said, and John realised that he'd stopped laughing, lost in thought. He shook his head in dismissal. Sherlock returned his gaze to the miscroscope.

As soon as he'd stopped looking at him, John started to walk round the table. He was only distantly aware of what he was doing. He came to Sherlock's side, leant down, and swiftly kissed him on the cheek. He turned away just as quickly, very conscious of how red his ears were getting. Why,    
_why_   
had he done that?!

When he mustered the courage to clear his throat and look back at his flatmate, he found that Sherlock was watching him again, his face impassive. 

“Er, _ahem_ , sorry. Tradition got the better of me.”

“Tradition?”

“Oh, right, you've probably deleted it. Nevermind, then. Forget it.” 

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but John cut him off before he could begin the uncomfortable questions. 

“So. Christmas. Presents. I got you one, hang on.” He strode out of the kitchen to fetch it, ignoring Sherlock's call of “John, wait-”

Sherlock hadn't moved from the table when he returned. His brow was furrowed. 

“Right, um, I know you said you didn't do Christmas exchanges, but I couldn't just...well, here.” John thrust an envelope at him and he took it, his eyes never leaving John's face.

Sherlock tore it open and read the card inside. Slowly, he looked back up. John shrugged, embarrassed.

“I thought...well, I didn't know...”

“John,” Sherlock said firmly. “this is...too much.” 

John reddened. The card itself was a basic stock Christmas card with a forgettable greeting in it. But John had tucked a gift certificate to a laboratory supplier worth a few months' salary inside.

“Merry Christmas.” he said weakly. Sherlock's jaw had dropped.

“John.” he breathed. “This is brilliant.” 

John smiled. “Glad you like it.”

“I'm afraid I haven't-”

“That's fine, I wasn't expecting anything.”

“Neither was I, but you still did this.”

“Yeah, but you didn't think I'd actually listen when you said you didn't want anything?”

Sherlock's lips quirked into a smile. “No.”

John opened his mouth with no idea of what he was going to say, when the doorbell rang.

“That'll be the food.” he said, and retreated. 

He returned again to find Sherlock standing just behind where he'd been sitting. Jesus, was he    
_ever_   
going to move from under that mistletoe? John put the bag of food on the table.

“Tuck in.”

“John, I want to give you something.”

“Come off it, you don't have to.”

“No, but...I'm selfish, and I want to.”

“Sorry, I don't follow. How does wanting to give me something make you selfish?”

“What I want to give you...it would be giving myself something as well.”

John was good and confused now. He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh? And what's that?”

Sherlock looked up, contemplating the white berries amoung the mistletoe's leaves. 

“Myself. I want to give myself to you.”

John choked on the air.

“Wh-what?”

Sherlock lowered his eyes to meet John's evenly. 

“I am familiar with the Scandinavian mistletoe custom, John. I simply asked because traditionally, it calls for a kiss on the lips. And I hung it up, not Mrs. Hudson.”

“Y-you?!”

Sherlock smiled. “You did it wrong the first time, doctor. You'd better fix it.”

Somehow, John managed to move, tripping over his feet on his way to Sherlock. A few inches away, he stared at his flatmate, breathing heavily.

“Merry Christmas, John.” Sherlock purred. He cupped John's jaw and brought him up for a proper kiss. 

“Just so you know,” John panted when they broke apart “no matter where this leads, I am still watching the Doctor Who special.”

 ****


End file.
